


love is a dog from hell

by mattels



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race (US) RPF
Genre: Coach AU, F/F, Lesbian AU, Rivals to Lovers, Skiing AU, figure skating AU, just biological women being biological women, lots of various queens, lowkey background tayce/a'whora, maybe a little smut maybe shh, they work at an olympic training esq boarding school ok, you just maybe have to squint
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:07:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29861322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattels/pseuds/mattels
Summary: is it really that complicated that denali wants to be the best? all signs from the figure-skating gods seem to point to yes. (especially with her decidedly adult and mature hatred of coach rosé, who keeps wearing those god awful skin-tight ski-pants.)aka denali's a figure skating coach, rosé's a ski coach; the rest is history
Relationships: Denali Foxx/Rosé
Comments: 16
Kudos: 71





	love is a dog from hell

**Author's Note:**

> this is one of those fics held together by jesus and glitter babey ! so we'll see how this goes !
> 
> title from charles bukowski's poetry book under the same name <3

November is sacred to Denali.

Although she’s a full-time figure-skating coach year round, boasting a full clientele of Olympic level students alongside a waiting list that seems to be growing by the year, November always manages to remind her why she started teaching to begin with.

 _Bonneville Academy_ , despite Denali considering its title of ‘academy’ being a stretch, has managed to wedge itself into her life, year after year. She spends six months of her year in Chicago, teaching private lessons to overenthusiastic and grossly rich teenagers, but from November through to April, she spends in Utah, working with the students to tighten their quadruple lutzes and receiving a paycheck that leaves her feeling pretty comfortable until the next November.

Although the school is technically a legitimate boarding school, offering fairly okay-quality education alongside the best training in the country all year, a lot of the students only attend for the ski season, unable or unwilling to fund a whole year. 

_Or maybe,_ Denali considers with a smile, _nobody wants to live in the middle of nowhere, locked away in the mountains like a fucking yeti._

Michelle Visage, school director, emails Denali every year about working for them full-time, but every year Denali finds herself unable to leave Chicago behind. She loves her cozy city life, thank you very much. Living alone in her uptown apartment has yet to be beaten, even with the promise of the best skating facilities money can buy.

 _Half of the kids who attend don’t even realise how lucky they are_ , she finds herself thinking as her rental car starts the ascent to the school. It’s a long drive, the journey from Salt Lake to Bonneville is deliberately out of most peoples’ way, ensuring the cleanest snow and freshest powder for its plethora of skiers and snowboarders. She’d _definitely_ have killed for something like this when she was still training. 

The school is specialised, known for its premium winter sports programme raved about by former Olympians and their coaches. Everything is fully equipped, facilities and machines inside the camp always sparkling new and top of the line; huge dance studios with scary Russian ballet teachers to help her skaters achieve their best on the ice; big gyms and personal trainers; meals specially catered and designed to build muscle and strengthen bones. 

It’s also really fucking expensive; Denali sees the checks on Michelle’s desk with their seemingly endless zeroes, given by mothers determined to boast that _their little Sally went to Bonneville!_ But the elusive RuPaul, who Denali knows funds the school, but has never seen or heard much about, hands out plenty of scholarships to kids she deems talented and hard-working enough to thrive.

Denali’s car turns the corner, giving her a view of Bonneville’s ski slopes. She spots a couple of instructors already at the top of the chairlifts, riding down the mountain in neat lines as they enjoy the start of what’s looking to be a beautiful season. It’s still early, but it’s snowing heavily, Denali’s windscreen wipers working hard to keep the snowflakes off her windscreen. 

As Denali pulls up to their entrance, she spots a couple of other employees hanging around outside, boisterous laughter coming from their conversations. They’re all old-timers, Denali is sure one or two of them have worked at the school since its opening in the late nineties.

She immediately spots the inky black mullet that belongs to Mik, one of the snowboarding coaches for the younger kids. She’s standing alone, narrow back pressed up against a red bricked wall as she smokes a cigarette, flicking ash off of the end into the thin layer of snow below her feet. 

She gets out of her car, passing her keys over to the valet Michelle hires unnecessarily every year, always insisting, rather pointedly if you ask Denali, who seems to consistently be at the receiving end of the seemingly never-ending gripe, that she knows that _someone’ll fuck up her parking arrangement, Denali._

It’s a fair point-- Denali would never be bothered to follow Michelle’s colour-coordinated and meticulously planned spreadsheet, in which she’s grouped all the instructors of the same sport together in the carpark, as if it matters to anyone which spot they have.

The valet takes her bags too, which she’s perpetually grateful for; her suitcases are almost always overweight in the airport, despite taking three of her big ones with her. They’ll take them down to her room for her too, as if she’s staying in a nice hotel, not just a ridiculously boujee school.

Mik spots her, dropping the cigarette she was smoking and stubbing it against her chunky boots, jogging over to catch Denali in a tight hug. “Hey slut!”

Denali laughs, embracing her. “Nice to see you too, Mickey.”

Mik shrugs, letting her go with a smile. “You know you missed me, don’t even try it.” Denali rolls her eyes but can’t deny it, grinning when Mik wraps an arm around her shoulders. 

“Denali Foxx!” Michelle greets her loudly, ticking her name off on a clipboard. “Usual room,” she says, fishing a key out of her pocket and passing it to Denali.

“Roomies!” Mik says, laughing with an eye-roll when Denali pretends to shover her fingers down her throat complete with exaggerated gagging sounds.

Denali’s always grateful to room with Mik, the rooms are a slightly awkward size-- too big to stay in alone, a little too small for two people. Mik works at the school year round, and Denali knows she’s equally grateful to have someone to share with, forever complaining about how empty it feels when she’s by herself with two beds.

“Almost everyone else is already on the slopes,” Michelle notes, turning around so she can point out people on the mountain behind them. “You’ve got a couple days until the kids are allowed out, so better make the most of it.”

The school is laid out like a small village, boys on one side and girls on another, divided in almost everything except meals, which they have in the dining hall all together. The dorms are split into age, six buildings facing parallel to one another in a large U-shape, each with attached communal bathrooms and showers for the students. The buildings are all deliberately short so you can gape at Utah’s mountains practically anywhere on campus.

“I’ve been waiting for you to go out,” Mik says, grabbing Denali’s hand between her cold fingers, trying to drag her down the asphalt leading to the sports instructors’ rooming in the centre of the U. 

The academics take place a couple miles down the road in a big building that actually looks like a school, which Michelle swears helps the students to stay focused, but Denali can’t say she’s totally convinced. She’s seen them get off the bus after school, racing one another to be the first in the chairlift queue.

“I _really_ don’t want to go.” Denali whines, but lets Mik tug her down the path regardless. She’s not the best snowboarder even on her best days, and Mik always wants to take her down the especially mogul-ly runs, zipping in between trees and dodging ice patches that are still missing snow.

“Yes you do!” She says, practically skipping down the road. “There’s only a couple of us here anyways, and the kids aren’t allowed to carve up the snow yet-- it’ll be fun!”

Denali rolls her eyes, with a sigh. “I’m only doing green runs!”

“Only red runs? Perfect!”

“No, fuck, come on Mik,” she huffs, her breath coming out in sharp puffs in the cold air. “I’m out of practice, this isn’t fair.”

Mik looks at her, shrugging her narrow shoulders, “how’s that my issue, gorge?”

She groans loudly as they approach the staff building, letting Mik lead the way to their room, unlocking the door with her own key.

Mik keeps their room uncharacteristically clean, especially in comparison to her wardrobe filled with clothes piled up on the bottom rather than on their hangers. Denali is pleased to see her blue suitcases on the side of the room Mik’s left for her, both her skating and snowboard boot bags by the end of her bed. 

Mik talks aimlessly about the year so far as Denali changes out of her oversized shirt and equally oversized jeans combo. She rifles through her suitcases, half listening to the other girl, searching for her snow-pants and a hoodie, adhering to Mik’s advice to forgo her ski-jacket as it’s still early in the season and sunny enough, despite the snowfall. 

She makes her help her lace up her boots properly, watching Mik’s skilled hands tightening them in record time. “Are you borrowing a board?” She asks.

“Mm,” Denali confirms, “are they ready?”

“You can literally borrow mine,” Mik squints up at her from her kneeling position, “we’re like, basically the same height.”

Denali scoffs at this, arching one of her dark eyebrows. “No fucking way am I borrowing one of yours, they’re _all_ deathtraps.”

“They’re _literally_ normal boards.”

“No, they’re all weirdly thin and flexible, I’ll _literally_ break my neck.”

Mik frowns, “ok, first of all, rude. Second of all, I’ll have you know my boards are perfectly safe--”

“--did you or did you not snap one in half last year?”

“That was _one_ time!”

“And that’s one time too many, doll.” Denali says, leaning down to tuck the laces into the tongue of her boot, pulling down her pants so they rest over the top. She reaches out a palm, helping Mik up from her kneeling position. “Get ready and I’ll meet you by the chairlift, okay?”

Mik rolls her eyes, reaching into Denali’s suitcase to attach her goggles to her helmet, passing it over with her gloves tucked neatly inside, as she would with her ten year-olds. Denali yells a thanks over her shoulder as she leaves, weaving her way out of their building to run down to their small ski shop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Humiliatingly enough, Mik makes Denali carry her snowboard with her on the chairlift, refusing to let her sit with one foot strapped in like a normal person would.

“You’re gonna knock your teeth out,” she laughs when Denali complains loudly about it. “Like fully _splat,_ bitch.”

“I know how to ride a chairlift, thank you very much.” Denali grumbles, clutching her board tightly in her arms and sitting down. Mik reaches behind them, pulling down the safety bar, which Denali rests her feet on.

“Can’t have any casualties on day one, gorge.”

“The only casualty will be from me wringing your skinny little neck out when you push me down the mountain, you fucking bitch.” She groans, looking at the run below them. 

There’s a pack of skiers weaving their way down tightly together under the poles of the lift. She can already see the deep valleys of moguls, even with her terrible eyesight. One of them looks up at their chair, waving at them with a grin. 

Denali squints and she can see it’s Tayce, one of the newer instructors at the school. They had made fast friends last year, gossiping together about who hooked up with who over Thanksgiving-- _no, no, no, it’s clearly Brooklyn and Vanessa, they keep eyeing each other up_ \--, which of their kids were likely to _actually_ make the Olympic team-- _all of mine, thank you very much, Taycey_ \--, who they might fuck given the chance-- _have you not seen A’Whora in the physio suite? I’d let her curb-stomp my neck--_ et cetera, et cetera.

“Everyone else is coming up tonight and tomorrow,” Mik remarks, waving over-exaggeratedly waving down to Tayce like she’s in a pantomime. “Tayce is like the only bitch I can stand here, as of currently”

“ _As of currently?_ I’m here, _as of currently!_ ”

“My point still stands, gorge.”

“After this run can you join up with them?” Denali groans, “Tayce’ll go super-speed with you. _And_ she’ll let you harass her without breaking your nose.”

Mik laughs, “I don’t go that fast, bitch.”

“Have you ever seen that Disney movie _Bolt_? Y’know the one with that dog who runs like, full speed of light? They could do a live-action version with you as the dog.”

“Woof!” 

Denali’s face cracks into a grin as she rolls her eyes, “I’m serious! One minute you’re next to me, the next you’re--” she slides her gloved hands together in a forward motion “-- _zip_. And then I’m the idiot who can’t get down.

“I’d never leave you!” Mik gasps, clapping a palm to her chest. “How dare you, fucking bitch.”

Denali scoffs loudly in response. Every year Mik tries to bully her into doing a couple runs together, and every year without fail Denali obliges, only to find herself stuck at the top of a mountain, Mik nowhere in sight.

“Head,” Mik announces, reminding Denali to duck her head so Mik can raise the safety bar, as they start to approach the end of the lift. Mik lines herself up to the drop-off, riding around the corner smoothly, giggling as Denali has to jog to keep up.

They both sit down to strap in, Mik tightening Denali’s bindings for her and pulling her up with a roll of her eyes. 

“See you at the bottom?” Mik asks. Before Denali can answer, she’s slipped off, whooping as she hits a bump and flies upwards, grabbing the nose of her board as she hits the jump.

“So much for never leaving me, I guess,” Denali grumbles, carefully edging herself down the slopes with big sweeping S-shaped turns, she knows Mik will laugh at her about later, reminding her how her ten year-olds could easily out-board her.

 _Uh yeah, I’d fucking hope so_ , Denali thinks to herself, curving around onto the toe-edge of her board. _Otherwise this’d be the biggest waste of money like, uh, ever._

The air that whips around her is cool, blowing snowflakes into her dark hair, but she doesn’t feel cold, happy in her thick sweatshirt and pants. Her feet are desperate to be unlatched from the board, feeling slightly unnatural to be locked in. She’s much more in her element spraying ice as she nails a complicated spin, she knows Mik would eat ass on.

 _Yeah,_ she thinks, _fuck you and your ten year-olds, Mickey._

☆☆☆☆☆

“Michelle’s put the board up,” Tayce says in the late afternoon, sticking her head around Denali and Mik’s door propped open by a snowboard boot. 

Denali looks up from the book she’s reading, comfortably curled up on her bed with her mandatory evening uniform of thick fluffy socks and sweats on. Mik, on the other hand, is still in her lycra leggings and hoodie, having made no effort to change since coming back, much to Denali’s disgust. 

“Well?” Tayce asks in annoyance, cocking her hip, “you coming or what?”

Mik groans, rolling off of her bed and moving to stand next to Tayce in their doorway, bare feet on the cold linoleum. Denali carefully places her bookmark in her book, grabbing a pair of Nike slides-- sponsored, thank you _very_ much-- and begrudgingly walking down the corridor to their big common room.

The Board-- with an optional trademarked symbol from Mik-- as it’s been aptly dubbed, is a large whiteboard divided neatly (by the increasingly anal Michelle) into a leaderboard. The top ten coaches are listed top to bottom, ordering the number of world title holders they’ve coached at Bonneville, bonus points being allotted to those whose kids win gold, and double points if the title being held was _Olympian_.

Michelle says it builds healthy competition. Denali says it builds a desire to Tonya Harding every other bitch in this place. _Tomayto, tomahto._

Denali hadn’t even been on The Board, until she had returned three seasons ago with the last World Skating Championships under her belt, managing to land three podium spots. She proudly boasted for months to anyone that looked like they might listen that her girls had swept the categories, winning medals across the ladies’ single event, ice dance and pair skating. 

Despite her allure of confidence, she knows she only made it up there because Michelle insists on starting fresh each year. She tries to tell them that she’s giving the new coaches a chance, but everyone knows it’s to keep egos in check. 

Egos like mother-fucking _Rosé McCorkell_ ’s, who’s placed first on The Board two years running. 

First as in one spot ahead of Denali’s second, first. First as in gloating in Denali’s face every opportunity she gets (and rest be assured, every opportunity means _every opportunity_ ), first. First as in deliberately sabotaging Denali’s skaters, first-- well, at least in Denali’s eyes.

 _Okay, whatever, yes_ it _could_ have been a coincidence that one of her front runners’ sole came unglued from the attached blade on the morning of Nationals a year ago. _And yeah, sure,_ maybe Rosé was like, several states away from the incident. _And okay, yes,_ she still came in first after the whole thing, so it’s not it even really mattered after all. But Denali just knows Rosé had something to do with it, _that bitch._

“Who's on top of the pyramid this year?” Mik sing-songs when they approach The Board. Denali instinctively works her way through their photos from the bottom to the top, clapping Tayce lightly on the back when she sees her smack-dab in the centre.

She isn’t nervous; she knows she did well this year, the girls she had coached in the previous season competing in nationally-recognised competitions, pictures of them grinning up on their podiums, flowers in sequinned arms, emailed to her and the school. And it’s not even like it matters.

Her photo stands in line with another, both placed side-by-side at the top of the leaderboard. She can hear Mik mumble an _oh shit_ , with a laugh as she realises that Denali is tied with Rosé at the top.

Okay, so maybe it matters a little bit.

Rosé’s photo looks down at her. She’s wearing her obnoxious signature pink ski jacket, her name embroidered into it in a sparkly silver thread. Her equally obnoxiouly signature curly pink hair has been tied up in a messy ponytail, and she stares at Denali with a big fucking grin on her face.

Denali wants to rip down the laminated photo, putting it into a paper shredder and watch as Rosé’s dumb face gets torn into ribbons.

“Healthy competition huh?” Tayce remarks, wrapping a long arm around Denali’s shoulders. “The cheek, the nerve, the audacity and the _gumption_ , mama.” 

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” A voice groans, Denali turns around and is met by the woman of the hour. Rosé looks her up and down, irritation flickering in her green eyes. “Stepping your shit up, this season ice princess?”

Denali arches an eyebrow in response. “Evidently, McCorkell.”

Rosé smiles at her, all pearly white teeth Denali is _pretty_ sure are veneers-- well, at least that’s the rumour she and Tayce started last year as a laugh. 

All of a sudden, she feels like a shark’s prey, a minnow trapped inside the great white’s tank. Rosé doesn’t have to say anything for Denali to know that she’s going to be in for a tough season. 

_Better get that hammer ready,_ she thinks to herself, _I am_ not _the Nancy Kerrigan of this competition, bitch._

**Author's Note:**

> tysm for reading !! please let me encourage you to leave a comment or kudos if you enjoyed cos i basically live off that shit ! <3
> 
> come chat w me on tumblr ! @ mattelography


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